


find me (in the place you were lost)

by CrazyLaughter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Nephilim Not Mentioned, Recluse Dean Winchester, Season 13 Castiel/Dean Winchester Reunion, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-12 14:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15997421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyLaughter/pseuds/CrazyLaughter
Summary: When Cas comes back from the dead to see him, Dean has an adverse reaction to it.Occurs in the beginning of Season 13.





	find me (in the place you were lost)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohcuddleharry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohcuddleharry/gifts).



> This is for my absolute best friend in the world. Happy birthday, N! I hope you like this (because Destiel), though I rushed through with it and I hope you don't give me sh*t for the typos. (You totally can, because you will.) I'm not entirely satisfied with it, but this is me. x

The air was too clean for Dean's lungs. He was made aware of the fact every time he breathed in. It's one of the revelations that push him to believe that he doesn't belong there at all.

He's been drinking water from a faucet and making flapjacks for one, ever since he's come. He hasn't had a beer in more than three weeks and he can hear his liver thanking him for the treatment. In the day, he goes kayaking or sits on the cabin's porch, a pair of sunglasses on his nose and the worn-down radio playing. In the evening, he comes away from the cold and sits in front of the fireplace instead with a mug of hot cocoa. The television is always playing crappy reruns to watch. At times, he roasts marshmallows and makes himself unsatisfactory s'mores. He craves a cheeseburger constantly but doesn't force himself to drive into town to get one.

It should be lonely, with him in a cabin in the lonely woods with no neighbor. But, it isn't. His phone is mostly switched off from all the hunters hounding him about one case or another. He should miss Sam (he does), but he's less worried since he's admitted that Sam could take care of himself- he could take better care of himself without Dean around, though he strongly disagrees on that with Dean. He calls every two days like an overly attached girlfriend.

And Dean.

Dean has gotten another number that no one but Sam knows. He's driven cross-country to freaking Ely in freaking Minnesota of all places and booked himself a cabin for as long as possible under the name of '[Vince Taylor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9YEJai4is1U)'. He has been singing hallelujah all while buried in wood-chips and remorse. He hasn't cried. He can't, it's not like he hasn't tried. He detached himself from the world like all the stupid recluses he made fun of. Everything is a hysterical joke now.

Crowley is dead. Ha. Lucifer is dead. Ha. Mom is dead. Ha. Cas is-

Cas is dead.

Cas is dead. Haha.

Where's the beer when you need one?

***

 

There's static on the line before the conversation even begins. It's a slight filler for the awkwardness. Also the preamble for the feelings session that Sam without a doubt, holds when he's on the phone. Dean is so accustomed to it that it makes him want to roll his eyes. Here goes, is all he thinks every time.

"So, uh, how you doing?" says Sam.

Dean huffs. "Sammy..."

"Dean," he says in what he thinks is a soothing voice. Seriously, the boy puts 'mother' in 'smother'. "You gotta help me out, man. I'm in the dark with you here."

"No, you aren't," he gruffs. "I already told ya this. I'm fine, I'm good. I'm eating my meals and sleeping on time and doing my homework. No need to worry, mom."

He can practically hear Sam roll his eyes. "I'm just trying to look out for you."

"Well, I don't need you to." That's that.

There's more silence like Sam trying to conjure up a topic that might not cause an argument between them. Or make them bicker. Dean has always loved it, but it drove Sam nuts. It was years before Sam got a hang of it and fought back verbally. But, to the date, Sam didn't prefer it. He brought it out to retaliate but obviously, he didn't believe in speaking. Nerd.

"I've been working on some cases," Sam settles for a safe option.

"You come across anything unusual?"

"Dean, we know nothing but unusual," deadpans Sam. What a smartass.

He picks at the Band-Aid on his elbow, words slurring without focus. "More so than usual is what I meant."

"Nope. Just the norm- a rugaru, a vampire nest that Phil and I beheaded, a ghoul. Not many monsters around right now. I guess they're still shaken up about Lucifer's arrival."

He goes quiet like he clearly heard Dean flinch. "I've had plenty of time for research and I've been looking up some stuff."

"Like what?"

There is no immediate reply.

"What does stuff mean, Sam?"

Sam clears his throat. "Theories on alternate universes. And bridges to them."

"No," he cuts in before anything else is said. Before any more hope is dashed out uselessly. "No, don't start with that nonsense. They're dead. You can't bring them back."

"You don't know that-"

Dean can't help but grouse. His brother is so stubborn, it irks him. "I do. You've seen what it's like there. You know there's hardly a chance. Knock it off, dude."

Sam goes quiet, not bothering to fight back. Of course, Dean is right. It's the end of the conversation and he considers it a win.

***

 

He didn't like to admit What Went Down. It was a blur in his head and he was in no hurry to recollect and reminisce and reconsider everything. It comes in flashes of daydreams and he tries to hold on to the chair he's sitting on, with a white-knuckled grip and breath deep enough that he doesn't cry. He always feels like someone's watching.

Scratch that. He always feels like Cas is watching.

He knows he's going cuckoo just by that because Cas is dead. Nothing will change that. Chuck isn't around to fix him up anymore and bring his ass back to them. He's dead, period. Nothing will ever phase that truth, even if the universe wanted it.

Damn it all, is what he thinks sometimes. It's tedious living his life and yet he does. Or did. He's seen everything and it's killed him literally too many times. Screw Lucifer and screw his son. It didn't make a worldly difference. Jack made a rip in time and space, which got Mom and Crowley sacrificed by trapping Lucifer in another world. The angels took away Jack after everything, decided he'd make a good weapon and whatnot. Midst it all, an angel blade went through Castiel's chest and Dean doesn't remember anything but the ringing in his ears and the sight of Cas's body falling to the ground with a thud.

He doesn't like to remember that Sam had to drag him inside and deposit him in the shower when he barfed all over himself. Or the looks of pity he gave him. All the whiskey he'd downed in the two days that followed. How much he prayed to somebody who was no longer there. How he realized how much he freaking loved Cas.

So, no, he isn't going to think about it.

He's in the sanctuary of nothingness and a forest with no one. He's not a Winchester anymore, just a nobody called Dean. He doesn't know how long it'll go like that, or how long he would want it to. For the time being, he exists.

***

 

On a particularly humid day, Dean finishes chopping down firewood until his shirt sticks to his back with sweat, and he shakes away his wet hair. The air is too warm and smoky- again reminding him that he doesn't belong there. He clenches his fists because he wants beer, but he makes himself a pitcher of lemonade. Later, he washes Baby since it's the only thing that doesn't probe him. It's the only thing that doesn't make him feel like he's under a microscope.

After a while, he realizes that hydrating himself is useless, he stumbles onto his unmade bed at eleven AM and dreams of a late lunch before he dozes off. It's a floaty nap. he's aware of everything, yet just wants to close his eyes and not think for a while. It isn't possible, it never is.

A sharp knock on the door, makes him bolt up and lunge for the gun stashed under his pillow. He aims it to the wall across him, breathing heavily, slightly disoriented by the nap.

No one could have found him. He was in the middle of nowhere and Sam would never give away any information. Not unless he was in some kind of danger- in that case, they always had codes for those kinds of things.

Sliding out of bed, he scampers down the wooden stairs as quietly as possible. His feet pad on the rug that leads him to the door. Once before it, he adjusts his grip on the gun, braces the other hand on the door handle and pulls, pointing the gun at the person reflexively.

For a second, the world goes on without him.

He's frozen when he finds an all too familiar pair of blue eyes staring back at him; the crow's feet as prominent as ever. Shaggy black hair taunts him and he can hear the stupid trench-coat laughing at him. The very trench-coat that he took under his aid when Cas was off being dead before.

In conclusion, Castiel isn't dead. Or maybe, Dean was daydreaming from the humidity again. He didn't want to put the vision before him to test.

The voice of rasp comes like it always does- inquisitive, concerned and affectionate. "Dean-"

And Dean shuts the door in his face.

It takes him a moment to gather everything that has happened in the previous two minutes; hearing something, coming to the door, opening it to find Cas. It takes another to realize he's dropped his gun- which thankfully in the safety mode. If anything, it could all be in his head. It couldn't be true; not with how he has dreamt of it every night.

Cas came in through the tear, something to say on his lips. He didn't get to say anything, because Lucifer snuck up right behind him and drove the blade into his chest with a clean cut. Every time, Dean dreamt of it, he knew it was coming. He wanted to tell Cas- but his mouth wouldn't move. He tried and tried to not see Cas die one more time, but in the end, it was stuck in his mind's eye. The life draining out of Castiel with a bright light, only a plaque left on the ground where he'd been standing.

Every time Dean woke up after that particular nightmare, he couldn't move. Just like himself in the dream, he would wake up with the need to breath or scream and not be able to just that. He would lay in bed until he felt his limbs again and pretend it didn't happen. It was so much easier, yet it was so hard.

He opens the door to check if it's real, if Cas was still there. When it cracks open, Cas's somber face peers at him wordlessly. He shuts the door with another deafening thud and tries to concentrate on breathing.

"Get away from here," he means to threaten, but it comes out too airy. "Before I kill you."

For a mere second, there is no sound and it makes Dean think if he's actually imagining it. But, Cas's voice is loud, clear and jarring when he begins to speak. "Dean, it's me. I found you."

Dean leans his forehead on the wood of the door and exhales forcefully. "Get away. Whatever you are- go away right now or I'll put a bullet in your heart."

"That won't work on me."

It sounds so much like Castiel that Dean almost believes him. "What are you?"

"An angel of the Lord. Castiel is my name. Your brother, you, and I were always together at war. We were... a team, as you once said. You must believe me."

Dean makes a face to himself. "You're not Cas. He's dead. Leave before I do something."

After a minute of silence, Dean assumes that the creature has walked away, scared of his threats. "You say that because you are scared that you might believe me. That it might be true."

To that, Dean doesn't know what to say. His instincts don't act up like they usually do; his ears don't perk and his eyes aren't trained for the next thing to come. It can't be helped when he checks the closed curtains, picks up the gun, leaves it on the side table and sits on a particularly dusty armchair. He tries to stare at the mute TV, but his eyes keep stealing glances to the silent front door. He wants to believe it's all another one of his stupid dreams. But, it's so surreal, it's got his wide awake.

He doesn't salt the windows or bring out the silver bullets or draw a Devil's trap. He once thought he was made for hunting. Not anymore. He doesn't have it in him anymore. Not when hunting took everything from him.

***

 

Late into the evening, he looks out through the screen of the kitchen door to see fireflies humming along the branches of the scattered cedar trees. He decides that it might not be a bad idea to take a look outside. Despite his previous thoughts, he still takes a flask of holy water with him to the door.

Immediately as the door swings open, he spots Cas standing there just as he'd been left, not an inch out of place. He makes a quick move to splash the water on him.

As usual, Cas doesn't even flinch. "Does that clear it?"

Dean furrows his eyebrows and peruses the being in front of him. "How are you alive?"

Cas shrugs; it's a habit that's rubbed off of Dean and that makes his insides burn. "I fiddled a few threads."

"What?"

Squinting, Cas frowns to himself as his tilts his head in question. "I knew that was the wrong expression. What was it... ah, yes. I pulled some strings."

For the second time in the same day, Dean shuts the door in his face.

"You know I can appear inside within some time. There are other ways. You've also taught me how to pick a lock."

Dean tries not to sigh out loud. Not while he's too busy trying not to let his knees buckle and his weight collapse. "Do that and I'll make sure you'll stay dead this time."

It's an empty threat, even Cas knows that. It's not that Dean couldn't (he couldn't because he doesn't possess an angel blade; it was in Baby's trunk outside) but because he won't. He wouldn't even if he could. The relief he begins to feel makes tears prick his eyes and he goes off to punch his face into a pillow.

***

 

The night goes by in a fitful sleep. He tosses and turns, grunts and groans. The thoughts in his head are lines of gunpowder, ready to be set aflame. He lies in bed up until dawn, body stiff and active like a live wire. Knowing Cas is alive doesn't make it better than knowing he's dead. It's maybe just as bad. But, the existence of such an idea in him, makes him feel like he's letting Cas down; which is all new feeling he can't add to his plate. He should be happy, he should be excited- but he can't quite understand what he should be feeling. There was a part inside him- a tiny part that believed Cas was dead. That he was supposed to get used to the world that hadn't experienced Castiel- that won't ever experience him again. Just as he was getting into the equilibrium of it, Cas came along and destroyed it.

He'll have to start from the beginning. If not now, then somewhere along the way.

The sheets are too warm and he's too wide awake, long before the sun had coming dancing through the window and over his bed. He shrugs on a dressing gown he'd found in the bunker and pads downstairs. After an enlightening mug of coffee, he retrieves an axe from under the stairs and opens the door.

This time, Cas is sitting in his chair on the porch, right where he listens to the radio in the afternoons. He looks like he's been there the whole time like he hadn't slept. Like he always looks. Ready for Dean. Ready to go against anything. Ready to defy the world.

"Hello, Dean," he greets. Like he hadn't just been resurrected just a while back.

Dean wordlessly walks to the back of the cabin, Cas on his heels. He doesn't speak until he's gotten a long piece of a dead tree on an old stump and his axe gripped tight in his hands. "You're supposed to be dead."

When he strikes it down, he almost misses Cas's answer. "I know."

Huffing, he pulls the axe out and positions it. "Where did you go? How are you here?"

Cas makes a grimace. "It's a lengthy-" he must see Dean clench his jaw since he cuts himself off and begins to explain. "All angels and demons go to a place called The Empty when they die. It's existed long before God or the Darkness came into being."

Dean doesn't gesture for him to continue, but simply chops down another block of wood. He couldn't look Cas in the eye. If he did, Cas being Cas could tell all.

After a pregnant pause, Cas goes on. "In the Empty, we sleep for eternity. For an unknown reason, I was awake. Which in turn woke up the Ruler of the Empty. I made him a deal and he restored me and put me back on Earth."

Though Dean wants to snort and tell him it isn't a long story at all, the hollowness in him doesn't let him. "That's it? That's all?"

"Yes."

Out of nowhere, Dean's chest begins to ache. A sickness overcomes him, strong enough to make him keel. He flings the axe away and picks up the few pieces of firewood he's made useful. Cas made it so simple, as it was barely a task for him to come back. As if he hadn't considered how much of a battle every day was for Dean. He didn't want to say it, though. It was a waste.

"Dean... You seem angry."

Snapping out of his reverie, Dean straightens up and looks pointedly at the ground. "That's one thing you're right about." He tries to sound light, but the words come out quaking.

He sees Cas tilt his head from his peripheral vision. "I cannot understand the reason."

"Sometimes, people get angry. It doesn't have to have a reason. It just happens."

Cas hums in agreement. "People are strange." He stops to think some more with his awkward little brain. "Are you angry because of me?"

As much as Dean wants to blame him, he can't. Instead, he stalls by tucking the firewood under his arm and walking away from the backyard. "No," he chokes out. "You're not the reason."

Of course, Cas trails right behind. "Then, why are you-"

The unleashed fury in Dean makes him so dizzy, that it works without his brain and without his control. It makes him flip around, chest heaving and seething. It makes him say words he doesn't mean for anyone to hear. "Because, dammit, Cas, I was learning to live without you and you screwed it all up!"

When he stalks back to the front of the cabin, Cas doesn't follow.

***

 

By the time it's afternoon, Dean is a mess. When isn't he? The couple of weeks did drag on and since Cas came back, time was stretching like molasses, like a slow drip in the back of his head. The emotions didn't get better at taming themselves and they didn't stop visiting. He didn't know who he was anymore. He screamed and broke things. He cried and ate too much and became someone he never knew. His life was beginning to revolve around it, just after he figured out that it revolved around Cas for far too long before he noticed it.

There was a time when his life revolved around Sam. It probably still did on some scale- but with less influence now that he knew Sam was safe within the confines of the bunker and in the alternate phone calls. He did his job well up until he couldn't.

So, when Cas happens to pick the lock and strides into the cabin, and right into his bedroom, something boils inside him. Naturally, he shrieks. And begins to grab whatever is close and hurl it at Cas. Which is how Cas ends up being bombarded with his unfolded laundry.

"I told you to stay outside," growls Dean as he catapults a pair of boxers at him.

Cas steps aside to dodge them. "You did."

He balls a cotton shirt in his hand. "I told you to stay outside. I asked you to do one thing for me and you couldn't!"

"Dean-"

"No!" He points a finger to Cas from across the room, watching the shirt hit in the head and plummet down. Words snap out of his mouth faster than ever and the anger coats them venomously. "You don't get to talk. You don't get to give excuses. You can't walk back in here -into my life, into my bedroom- and ask for things to be your way. I told you I don't need you walking around me and, and-"

Cas remains silent, that bastard.

Dean feels himself go redder in the face with every second. "I told you this. I'm learning how to live without you."

"You did," repeats Cas in a grave tone.

"So, why the hell can't you listen?!"

Cas opens his mouth to protest but shuts it again. What he says resonates. "Because you've taught me to be stubborn. To not take no for an answer. It's your fault," he peers at Dean as if he's reading his soul. "Because you haven't told me to leave."

Then, it's Dean turn to stay quiet, because what in hell can he say to that?

"I know how-"

Dean cuts across with a loud snort. He doesn't even feel like a dick even though he's interrupting. He drops the shirt in his hand to the ground. "You don't. Because you were busy being too dead. I had to see you lying on the ground and you wouldn't move and you wouldn't- I was helpless. I didn't know what to do." He sounds like a drama queen, but he doesn't want to stop. "I thought you would show up somewhere. You always do, don't you?" It sounds mocking enough to make a human cringe, but Cas is as passive as ever. "I looked for you everywhere. I prayed. I prayed for you."

"I know, Dean," Cas replies gently.

Kicking at the pile of leftover laundry, Dean feels himself foam at the mouth. Cas heard him and he came, he came so late, Dean had started giving up on everything, one by one. "I prayed for you. Why weren't you there?" He shakes his head, clenching his fists by his sides. "You were dead. I had to cremate you. Don't tell me you understand. I saw you dead. Don't tell me..." he trails off.

Cas simply stares at him with his eyebrows curved down. "You may disagree with me, but I understand. You have died before me, too. I was helpless. You must share your grief, Dean. This is no way to handle it." He begins to walk over just as Dean is about to scream back in retaliation, reaching into the inside of his rumpled suit to pull out a creased handkerchief. He offers it to Dean. "I do not deserve to be cried over, Dean. Though I greatly appreciate it."

It isn't until then that Dean realizes he's crying. He tries to rein it in by a taking in a deep breath, but it doesn't let up with his congested nose. He pushes away Cas's hand and looks at the wooden floor vehemently. "Where did that pop out of?"

"It's always been in one of the pockets. There hasn't been a use for it," explains Cas as he tucks the handkerchief back into the confines of his suit. "Dean, for what it's worth, my deepest apologies. I couldn't dream of hurting you."

Dean can't help but crack a smile at that. He glances up at Cas through his lashes. "You couldn't dream of it, huh?" He forces out a chuckle. The whole crying thing was stupid. He just wants to erase it all and pretend it didn't happen- hopefully, Cas would play along with it. "There's sausages in the freezer. What do you say about setting up the barbecue? I eat, you watch."

It doesn't mean Cas is forgiven for something that it isn't his fault and it doesn't mean Dean has forgotten. It definitely doesn't mean everything is okay; but, they'll get there. For now, they march out of the room like it's a battle- Dean leading and with Cas right behind him.

***

 

The next morning, Dean comes out to find Cas seated on the mattress that's leaning against the wall outside his bedroom doorway, hunched over a determined game of Fruit Ninja on his Samsung phone, cracked screen intact since forever. Despite being told to replace it, Cas has never gotten up to it, saying it wasn't of any use to him, but to call Sam and him on information- which was most definitely true. After he'd died, Dean didn't ask him of it, since... he was dead.

"Dean. How did you sleep?" Cas asks as soon as he feels his presence. When Dean raises his eyebrows at that, Cas answers back unwaveringly. "I've seen that in a movie. It's good manners to ask someone that, right?"

"Yeah."

Cas tilts his head at him. "So, how did you? Sleep, that is."

Dean shrugs lightly. The stinging sensation of mouthwash lingers in his mouth, making him reluctant to reply. "Anything above four hours is good, so, yeah. Good sleep. Aren't you supposed to already know that? What with your angel mojo or whatever?"

"I do know. But, I find it to be a nice conversation starter. You were angry yesterday. I was trying to test the waters."

Dean rolls his eyes and ties his dressing gown together and begins to walk downstairs.

"Where are you going?"

He sighs ruefully. He's gonna have to get used to this again; all the invasiveness. Not that he would have it another way. "I'mma grab some breakfast and then, go boating."

Creasing his eyebrows, Cas trails behind him. "You have to wait for twenty minutes after you eat before you go into a water body. I read that in a lifeguard guidelines book."  
Dean doesn't even want to ask him how Cas even got hold of a book like that, or why he wanted to read it in the first place. It's a lost cause understanding the way Cas works, but it's also very fascinating. And entertaining, if he's being honest. "Alrighty, then," he decides, just as they reach the bottom of the stairs. "No breakfast. We'll go straight to the water body."

Ostensibly, Cas walks with Dean to the end of a small pond, barely a mile away from the cabin. They don't speak much, not with how the sun is shining down on them like a punishing flare and how the both of them can hear Dean's stomach growling impatiently. But, Dean can see that Cas is trying. He makes small talk and attempts a smile that looks mostly like himself; at least, he doesn't look confused and crestfallen like he does when they have a situation- which was always. The peace was unnerving, but it was different. And Dean liked that they didn't have to run or do something while the world was at stake. For once, the world moved to their tune and it was... inexplicable.

Skipping through a loud, impossible daydream of Cas jumping into the water to chase after his kayak, Dean shrugs on a dirty life-jacket he finds strewn among a bunch of dark colored paddles, and hands one to Cas -who takes it without protesting that he doesn't need one- although he doesn't. They choose a tandem cockpit style kayak, that has too many scratches on its blue surface. Dean has to make Cas sit in the back hull and pushes him into the shallow tides, before he shuffles through the water until it's knee deep, hops into his own hull and grabs the paddle from Cas.

Cas opens his chest of questions just as the paddle hits the rippling water. "This is a weird kind of boat. Aren't boats supposed to be wide and have lots of space?"  
Huffing out a laugh through his nose, Dean smirks while pushing the paddle through the water and wades them forward. "This is a different kind of boat. It's called a kayak."

Till they float into the middle of the pond, Cas is quiet. He busies himself into peering at the lily-pads and bending over the side of the boat to skim his fingers in the water. He hums as he takes in the sight of the cedar trees around them and the flaked up pine needles on the shores. "I visited Sam," he says to the sun after a while.

It takes Dean a minute to realize it's addressed to him. He thinks quickly to Cas's reformed body and how his wings must have renewed themselves- and how he wasn't on the mattress when Dean woke up to pee in the middle of the night. Sam deserves to know Cas is alive just as much as he does. "That's great," he says solemnly. "Bet he had his nose stuck in his laptop when you got there."

"Actually, he had an encyclopedia in his hands. He must have been frightened to think it was an attack."

Dean makes a noise of pity, twinned with a grimace. "I expected some better moves from Sam, but oh well. He's probably lost his touch."

From the corner of his eye, he can see Cas break out into a smile and tries to keep his own at bay.

***

 

Sam calls the next day, about an hour after he's had his lunch, with Cas sitting across him. There's a nervous glitch in his voice. "Dean, hey. How are you?" He sounds awfully subdued and tired. It's like he's surrendered to the hurricane that's to come his way.

However, Dean feels very generous and doesn't demand anything of him. "I was starting to think you're over me. You didn't call me yesterday? How did you think my poor heart could survive it?" He simpers, knowing that Sam could very well hear it in his voice. He's been feeling too light like he's bobbing around in the air like no weight was on his shoulders. He knew with Cas back, they'd have to go back to hunting. Because the world liked to conjure when the three of them were around, together. But, he ignored it for the time being.

"Shut up," mutters Sam.

Dean grins triumphantly and begins to say something.

"I'm sorry," Sam says suddenly.

That makes Dean shut his mouth in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I know Cas is there and I didn't know if you wanted me to tell him where you were, but I'm guessing you were happy to see him?"

Dean freezes, phone pressed to his ear, eyes glued to the wooden wall that hangs the TV. "You told Cas where I was."

"You know Cas. He won't stop until he gets an answer and I know how you were after Cas... you get it. Is he fine? Do you both plan on returning?"

As if on autopilot, Dean tells him to call later, throws his phone on the couch and bounds outside to where Cas is sitting on the stairs of the porch.

 

 

For once, it isn't anger. He's so utterly calm that his mouth twists into a cruel smirk. His temples throb with how much he wants to open his mouth and snap at Cas to get all the answers. His hands shake where they're bunched up into his pockets. Yet, he reaches to where Cas is and descends a stair to seat himself on the top one.

Cas spares him a glance but goes back to looking into the distance.

There's no beating about the bush with it. There's no preamble. For as long as Dean could remember, he's learnt to walk around words and shoot down sentiments. This time, what his thinks comes out clearly through his mouth, with all perseverance. "You went to Sam before you came here."

Staring at the side of his face, Cas says nothing.

"You let me believe that you found me by yourself when in reality, you went to the bunker, asked him and came around here," accuses Dean. His words only flare with a little heat.

The trademark look of Cas's confusion shows up. "I didn't let you believe anything, Dean. You assumed that I did. I'm still weak. Though I have my powers, I still don't have my wings."

Dean clasps his hands and lets them hang between his knees. He can't help but think he's an idiot, had he only hit himself upside the head before thinking. What would anyone think if they saw him like this- vulnerable and blindly trusting? What would his dad think? Shame curls up in his stomach like pain. "You let me think..." He trails off as his ears turn red.

"I didn't let you think anything."

Somehow, the wry sentence sounds cold and rejecting to Dean. He squeezes his hands together. What he had come for- an intervention that was now turned against him without his will. Yet, he was not about have his ass handed to him on a platter; he was gonna fight back. "You did," he growls back. When Cas wasn't around, it was so easy to be assertive. It was so easy to put Cas on a pedestal and, so easy to disappoint each other. He wasn't happy with who he'd become. "You said you knew that I prayed to you. You're a-"

Cas angles his legs to face him, to get a glimpse of his expression. "I don't understand why you're angry."

"Because I can be," snarls Dean, glaring at the latter. He can feel steam going off behind his eyes.

"There has to be a reason this time," Cas ponders.

To that, Dean is left speechless, trembling in indignation.

A few painful seconds in, Cas figures it out. He sounds like knows all, and there's no questioning it. "You wanted me to find you on my own. You wanted me to come to you- come for you."

And, there it is. All of Dean's fears and hopes and weaknesses, cast out into the open for a vulture to catch and run it through the mud. If he wasn't feeling the worst already, Dean was now feeling it- and there was nothing that could surpass it. His lungs burnt and he was going to keel over, frozen down to the bone.

Cas reaches out and grasps his wrist. The sudden touch makes him jolt in his place, but he barely has time to register it as Cas begins speaking. "Dean, it doesn't matter. I found my way out and I'm alive. I found you one way or another."

His throat is dry, but Dean manages to rasp out something that he thinks is coherent. "What about the next time? What if you don't come back?" It sounds pathetically selfish to his own ears.

A soft look morphs out from Cas's face. His lips twinge into a reluctantly pasted sad smile. "You may doubt me, but I believe that there isn't a universe where I don't try coming back to you. Just like you won't stop praying to me." His eyes are earnest and steady on Dean and it makes his insides melt into a puddle that drips down to his toes. "And I think the universe helps me and puts me back to where I belong."

Dean's mouth is parted, half in shock and half in something he hasn't ever felt before.

"I will die as many times as I can," declares Cas, fiercely. His tone is calm but determined. "But, I will make sure that you live as long as you will under my watch."

Like that wasn't enough of a soliloquy to kill the last negativity in Dean, Cas straightens up, stretches his neck and plants a kiss on his forehead. A freaking kiss. On his forehead.

"What was that for?" Dean asks breathlessly.

Cas smiles waveringly. "I've read somewhere that forehead kisses mean 'I love you and I want you to be safe,'" he explains. For just a moment, a frown crosses his face. "That's what people do, right? They do things like this."

He sounds so small, so hopeful, that Dean doesn't think a moment before he slides his hand into one of Cas's.

Of course, Cas's hand is as open and waiting as ever.

 

 


End file.
